Lies, in the Memory of
by TheGiftOfHeavenSun
Summary: Because childhood friend is not eternal, but the promise is— MisakaMikotoxKamijouTouma


**Lies, in the Memory of…**

He greeted the lavender. The radiance was harsh, and she had to squint to see the newcomer of the prairie. The little boy was around her age— maybe slightly older, but he had never been in her dictionary after these five-years of visiting the very same area. The spiky haired boy was wrapped in conundrum, but a certain part of her never really wanted to lose the sight of him. It was; after some amount of inquiries to her mother; first love, and she would never forget the words that she learned via this actual experience.

(She merely blushed at the very thought of this…)

When the boy locked his gaze with hers— sparkling sapphire met pure black, his mouth curved into a tiny candy sweet smile, lip the color of roses. Misaka Mikoto couldn't help but smiling too; her porcelain hand subconsciously waved, as though she wanted him to be with her, to _play_ with her, or at least it was what her green brain processed inside.

He offered his hand for the sake of etiquette, and the words "My name's Kamijou Touma" never left her mind. The friendship grew, and she hoped that it lasted forever.

* * *

><p>Not forever, because forever meant solid and stay unchanged. She would move to a new city, and he would stay.<p>

"Please be careful when I'm not around because I won't be there to save you," he said on the day before she left. He smiled, and she would always remember that smile; so sweet, so heart-warming, and so him. The choice of (sweet) words appeared foreign for his mouth; perhaps the exact copy of a manga he just read. He was always the hero-type, and she always wanted to be the princess in distress. Waiting, waiting for _him_.

Sweet words, low voice, how could she not fall for him?

"I will, of course… But it's a pity that we must be apart," she flashed a broken smile; tears waiting to fall as her long brown hair danced with the calm breeze. Her vibrant vision suddenly blurred, her shoulders shivered, and she slightly forgot her smiling reflection; she didn't even know.

He took two lavenders from the ground, observed them for a moment and placed it on the hazel haired girl's hair. Stupefied by his abrupt action, she looked up, and the image of him beaming brightly at her was the only thing that she knew.

"I'll wait," he said. "It sounds corny, I know… But I'll wait… and give you well… more lavender? You love this flower, right? So don't cry…"

She didn't really understand (him). Nevertheless, he was (still) a hero, _her_ hero, and the words filled her heart with relief. She nodded.

* * *

><p>Misaka Mikoto fell in love often since her childhood days, but not with people— with the setting sun, with the sweet scent of strawberry, with the trace of early autumn wind that blew through her hair, and with her new hair style (short! It was easy to move!). For the most part, she fell in love (too) often recently with her dream— the unreality which became certain in sleep; because she always dreamed of paradise. The paradise meant <em>him<em>.

Every time she woke up, the dream was gone with the whirl of peppermint, and (most) parts of her really wanted him to stay here; Kamijou Touma with his naive eyes; painting her world in glee in the garden of lavenders. But, it never happened again until now. The boy was an enigma; was her _past_. Maybe he wasn't real.

But he was real.

(He was opium, and she had been addicted.)

* * *

><p>After <em>only<em> seven years, two months, twenty days, four hours, thirty-two minutes and six seconds, he didn't recognize her.

Their encounter was not fancy; not sweet, not beautiful, not even stained with the magic of fairy-tale. They met under cloudy sky — when the stars were completely forgotten and the susurrations of howling wind motivated those (useless) thugs to show their monstrosity. When the catastrophe was over (easily), she couldn't forget the ellipsis and question mark flew above his head. "Who are you?" was the only thing he could say.

He didn't know her.

Maybe it was because of the difference of hair style…

Maybe it was because of her tomboyish nature…

Ha-ha

(Past was something solid, present was something changeable and future was unknown, wrapped in the cloth, breaking dreams stronger than life itself.)

* * *

><p>His hairs were longer (still spiky though), his black spheres were smaller, more narrowed in a sense that made him looked sexier rather than cute, more man than a child (more mature than her). His black eyes were no longer joyful, dimmed in a confinement of misfortune hysterically, dark in the very center of heart. Nevertheless, his stare was still the same, and it was what she desperately needed after long this time.<p>

She had changed also. A lot. Misaka Mikoto was no longer a cute, helpless, little girl. Everything inside was not known by her past-self, blinded by the fog of dignity and nobility. Nevertheless, the memory of him— the memory that was synonymous with chocolate; was frozen in time, ever-lasting through the decades, and still as sweet after all these years.

In the land of freezing tundra, just when she was about to brave through all the tribulations to save him, she decided not to tell him the truth; because: 1. she and he were no longer the same, 2. the truth may hurt him (too) much, 3. They were separated by a huge crevice of difference. She only dealt with numerous thugs, and he dealt with the whole world. The truth may give a slight wound for him, and he must bear another burden on his gnarled shoulders.

It had been decided.

He was just a spiky haired guy; she was just a hazel haired girl. They never met in the past. Done.

…

She cried, and the contrast between her rimmed eyes and hazel irises were stark and ghostlike.

* * *

><p>"Say, anyway… What are you doing here?"<p>

She delivered this question in the midst of dawn's sacred dew, when the vernal breeze was unforgettable and the lavenders were harmonic with the nature. They were both sitting on the bench, watching the garden of lavenders which left only memories. Just the two of them.

It was unusual for him to greet her first. It was not different from, the hint of apocalypse or whatever. She almost fried him up— again, just like what the habitual pattern said. How he ended up sitting with her was still a mystery, but she decided to take her time slowly, cherished it deeply.

He stayed at his own thought, stranded between something that his twin orbs didn't show. Curiosity coursed through her veins and the attention given to him was undivided. The spiky haired guy closed his eyes, creating another pain that sulked up the first. He eventually spoke up.

"I want to meet a girl from the past," before she said anything, he continued his own monologue. "Actually it was a little bit regrettable… I thought I met that girl… Well I don't remember her name, however. I just remembered her long silky hair… it's hazel and beautiful and memorable."

Misaka Mikoto had to remember to breathe. Her sight was filled with his image, the memory of snow, glory of nostalgia, and vice versa. The lavenders watched, holding their silent vigils yet again whilst the two teenagers chatted in their own little circle.

"When we were apart… I promised her to give a bouquet of lavenders once we meet again. You know, the girls loved lavenders so much. So each time I come here, I bring a bouquet of lavenders, hoping her to come also and meet me."

He took the bouquet of lavender and Misaka Mikoto was surprised at the fact that she couldn't observe the purple beauties that he brought along. The hazel haired girl was too stunned to do anything but staring at him in disbelief; sweet memory started filling the majority of her brain. He glanced at her with those black eyes and smiled slightly.

"Well, that's it for the past! I'm utterly starving, so let's grab something to eat! Care to join?" he laughed to ease the atmosphere that had… changed— not in a good way. Nevertheless, the words that slipped from her mouth; those which were not so different from the last recalled minor arpeggio; were the only thing that he heard despite the pigeon's chirping melody of tranquility.

"I'm sorry…"

Her heart shattered, stumbled into a silver, dark trench.

"What's wrong? No need to concern yourself like that…" he replied, completely stupefied by the glory of crystal tears that started falling from her orbs of eternity. But she didn't stop.

"I'm sorry…"

"**That I don't tell you the truth…"**

"I'm sorry…"

"Hey, hey, don't be sad… What about I treat you for this time? What's wrong?" His gesture was wild, not knowing what to say and what to do. He approached her visage, trying to grasp the concept of a sudden tear-jerker that he didn't privately understand. Kamijou Touma placed his hand on the top of her head, trying to warm her heart for God's sake. She still didn't stop.

"I'm sorry…"

"**That I decided not to tell you anything…"**

"I'm sorry…"

"**The girl you met then is now a liar, is sitting beside you…"**

…

"Hey…" she finally said, after the repetition of the same apologies that brought about tears. She closed her eyes, trying to gather her courage to speak.

"The girl you want to meet… I'm sure… she felt the same thing for you…" she said whilst a smile— which half population of the town found heart-warming, was spotted from her face. It was not so great, not so shining just like that celebrity's smile, but it was so her. For that, the memory, something too sweet to be casted away, resounding in the very deepest heart of Kamijou Touma: the memory of the girl from the past; smiling in glee.

With those words, he smiled, offered a hand, which she accepted gently.

"I know…"

He still didn't know her, but he would always be a hero; _her _hero.

"**Let me stay like this, please?"**

(Dear lavenders, I love you as much as I love him…)

**End**

* * *

><p><strong>The bolded word<strong>**s show Misaka's thought. Anyway, I dedicated this piece of work from my friend who requested it.**

**Anyway, this is my new style of writing. I want to make it short. Care to review, please?**


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